


How long?

by Fafsernir_oldFandoms (Fafsernir)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wings, snake form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir_oldFandoms
Summary: Crowley daydreams a lot, especially when he sees people or things which remind him of his past. He sees Aziraphale a lot, and he daydreams a lot about Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	How long?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JekkieFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JekkieFan/gifts).



> Written for jekkiefan for the 2019 GOmens Holiday Swap, with their prompts:
> 
> "Ineffable husband cuddly softness (like wing preening and/or touch starved type stuff be my jam). Wings/true angelic forms/snake Crowley type of things are great. Anything where one or both of them are ace (can be flat out mentioned, subtle, or anywhere in-between). Also anything with Ashtoreth and Francis during their time with Warlock is fun too."
> 
> I hope you like it, I did have fun writing it!

The soft cushion under his scales felt nice and warm, as usual. Crowley had been sleeping for a while now and had just woken up. The bookshop was not incredibly heated, but it felt warm. Maybe it was the angelic presence in the room which made it so… comfortable. 

Crowley often felt this way when he was around Aziraphale, after all. Warm inside. Feeling as good as he had, back a long time ago, floated around the stars he had created, watching them, admiring them. It was a warmth he had briefly let go of – been snatched away from was more accurate – only to find it again under a beautiful sun, standing on an eastern wall one day. He had been different back then, more pessimistic, more broken, more lost. He had a different name, a different identity. But the moment Aziraphale had confessed that he had given his sword away, the moment he had babbled, or maybe even the moment he had stood next to a demon without running away, Crowley felt the warmth return. Stronger, warmer.

It had always followed him, wherever Aziraphale was. 

They had grown so much closer since Crowley had been handed a basket with a baby – not just  _ a _ baby, of course, but the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness, and all that jazz. Or, if you want to go simple, Adam, even if for the longest time, he thought it was Warlock. 

It was as if joining forces to stop the Apocalypse had brought them closer, or as if, even though they were trying to prevent it, the idea of losing it all had made them realize that it would also mean losing each other. And that, Crowley couldn't bear imagining. He had come up with this idea of watching – no, helping – Warlock grow, and if it meant spending his entire days in the same house – mansion, estate, castle, whatever it was – as Aziraphale then that was only a bonus. And maybe a wish.

Nanny Ashtoreth had done a brilliant job at falling in love with Brother Francis, as Warlock had pointed out one day, that… jerk. Crowley didn't really think that. ‘Clever kid' would be more appropriate, but that meant facing the fact that he was in love with Aziraphale. Which, truth be told, he was, but that didn't mean he had to tell the truth. It had simply been hard spending so much time with Aziraphale and not gaze off in his general direction and sigh.

It often got harder around Christmas. It wasn’t that they associated Christmas with anything in particular because they had been around for far longer than the holiday, but humans liked to think of this period as a good moment to show love and to offer gifts and chocolates… Now, Aziraphale usually liked this time of the year because he was enthusiastic about food. He liked when people ate well and he liked to eat well himself. Crowley liked this time of the year because… Well. He liked to say that it was because of alcohol, and the chaos he didn’t even need to trigger when people would shop for gifts at the last minute. Sometimes, he tempted people to wait for the last minute just to have fun, but he was the first to complain about the crowds outside on the last few days before Christmas. That was what he told himself. The simplest and most honest answer was that he enjoyed seeing Aziraphale happy. Everything felt easier when his angel felt fine and content. He felt okay himself.

So it wasn’t harder per se, but it was harder to be with people around Christmas, especially people who knew Aziraphale, too. It was harder to be around Warlock and Aziraphale during Christmas, to be more exact. And the reason was Warlock, of course. He was adorabl—y evil, and Crowley did not feel any love towards him, surely not, because that wasn’t the point of his presence in the estate. But he was with him, and Warlock liked questions, and Warlock liked to ask Crowley those questions. Crowley understood questions, Crowley had asked questions too. So he always answered Warlock, because he wished someone had answered all his questions. He was as honest as he could be.

When, one December morning, Warlock pulled on Nanny’s clothes and asked her, with all the innocence and good intentions in the world, if Brother Francis was the person Nanny loved the most in the world, she hadn’t even thought before nodding.

“What are you getting him for Christmas, if you love him so much?”

“I usually take him out to a restaurant.” Nanny wanted to slap herself for being unable to lie to this child, for being unable to shut her mouth.

It was their tradition, but it wasn’t their Christmas tradition. Crowley simply invited Aziraphale out a lot. It was their thing, as… as an angel and a demon, roaming the Earth for the past six thousand years.

Warlock forced Crowley to accept his love. It wasn’t that he had completely rejected it, but he had never talked about it. He had, on some drunken nights, confessed to some painter, or some writer, talked his feelings out. It felt different to admit it to a child, to Warlock. Again, it might have been because Warlock knew Aziraphale, too. It could also have been because Crowley felt different, now. He didn’t want to hide it anymore. If Aziraphale wasn’t going to love him back – oh, but he did, he did and Crowley knew it – and caught up with him, Crowley would not tug it under the carpet and ignore it anymore. It didn’t mean he was going to act upon it, but it felt better to let himself love.

That year, Crowley bought chocolate and a tartan bow tie for Aziraphale. He pretended not to notice the difference between his old tartan bow ties and the one Crowley had offered, but every time Aziraphale would wear his, his supposedly non-beating heart would miss a beat in his chest and remind him that he was in a corporeal being.

Crowley was staring at the young child wandering in the bookshop and thinking about Warlock. He wondered how he was doing, wondered whether he was still friends with Chloe, his middle-school crush, wondered if he had realised he had a crush on Thomas or if Thomas had told him he had a crush on him, wondered if he still ran in the garden with his friends, wondered if he still watched TV until too late, wondered if his parents had learnt to show him the love he deserved…

He watched the seemingly lost child, and slithered to him, along the shelves, to the ground and near his feet.

The child gasped and instantly threw himself on the floor, next to Crowley, looking at his scales. He approached a hand, excited, then stopped himself. “Can I touch?”

Crowley nodded.

* * *

“Andrew!”

Crowley didn’t really listen to the havoc that followed. Andrew’s mother found her son, which she had let loose in the bookshop in the hope of finding some book, sitting with Crowley, still in his snake form. She had almost screamed her outrage, but the fact that there was a giant snake staring down at her had somehow calmed her anger. Crowley turned back into his human form as they watched the customer angrily walk away, dragging her son and vociferating swear words.

Crowley burst out laughing when he caught Aziraphale’s eyes on him, and the angel chuckled in response.

“She was really stubborn about her book… Thanks for the help.”

Sometimes, Crowley liked to scare customers off, especially when they looked like they wanted to buy books and looked very determined. Aziraphale usually didn’t mention it.

“I was just tempting this kid…” he blatantly lied.

“To what, exactly?”

Crowley had not thought of a good enough lie, and he saw in Aziraphale’s eyes that he knew he was lying. He shrugged, letting it go.

“I was thinking… Do you want to stay in? Tonight, I mean.” He stopped himself from babbling some more.

“Always,” Aziraphale simply smiled, his bright eyes looking directly at Crowley’s. 

To say that he melted every time Aziraphale would look at him like that would not be too far from the truth. 

It wasn’t Christmas yet, but the days were growing shorter, the sun was setting earlier, the streets were emptier. People were starting to talk about Christmas, streets had been lit up with Christmas lights for a while now. There was this general feeling of warmth despite the weather being so cold.

A few snaps later, and they were sitting in Aziraphale’s back room, eating what Crowley had cooked – but pretended to have stolen from someone who didn’t need it – and sipping a wine. Or more than one wine. Sipping wine.

Crowley could feel this warmth again, as he stared at Aziraphale carefully eating his food. He would wipe his mouth with his napkin every other bite, and Crowley would always look at his lips, idly smiling as he could feel Aziraphale’s content. He didn’t experience the same pleasure Aziraphale did when he ate, but he thought he could compare that pleasure to what he felt when he watched him. It made him happy.

“I didn’t do anything,” Crowley answered when Aziraphale thanked him, again.

Crowley had been staring at Aziraphale’s hand for a while now, trying not to think about it running through his own hair, or his fingers linking with them, or his lips kissing it… When the hand rested on the table as Aziraphale seemed to be talking about something in a hushed whisper, despite the fact they were alone, Crowley reached out instinctively.

He sometimes felt the urge of doing this, once in a while. He never did, because he always caught himself before he could. But as he was hearing Aziraphale talk, without really listening, and looking at his hands moving and giving life to what he was saying, Crowley didn’t have the presence of mind of holding himself back.

Their hands touched. Crowley froze, Aziraphale stopped mid-sentence, looking shocked. He slowly looked at their now joined hands, as if afraid he wouldn’t see what he thought he was going to see, and his face alternated between a smile and surprise.

“I…”

“No,” Aziraphale instantly said, knowing how quickly Crowley could back up from anything he did. He turned his hand, intertwined their fingers, and smiled, preventing Crowley from moving his hand away. ”How long?”  _ An eternity _ , Crowley was about to answer. “Have you been pushing that off, I mean.”

Crowley gulped. The way Aziraphale knew so many things, but didn’t act on half of them, scared him. Why hadn’t he acted sooner, if he knew Crowley had been preventing himself from doing it?

“A while,” was vague enough for Crowley to be fine with Aziraphale knowing.

“Will you dance with me?”

Before he could protest, he was forced to his feet, and music filled the air. His brain didn’t realize what was being played. Crowley only focused on the hand on his lower back, and the other hand on his own, swaying him slowly.

Aziraphale seemed to have been waiting for this to happen for a long time, too. The dance or Crowley finally acting on his feelings, that he didn’t know, but both seemed to be more relaxed now that they had the other’s hand secured in their own, and that they were swaying softly to music. Crowley wondered if there ever was music in the room as they danced. He couldn’t remember it, couldn’t even remember the melody. He remembered balancing from one feet to another in what felt like dancing, but looked probably very awkward. He remembered the new way warmth spread throughout his whole body, how his cheeks heated up when he heard Aziraphale chuckle, when he felt his chest move against his own, how his skin tickled everywhere Aziraphale touched him. 

They danced in silence – or at least, Crowley’s mind shut off any sound – for a while, until they collapsed on the couch, giggling as they talked and enjoyed each other’s presence, smile, touch and voice. 

A sudden swoosh sound made Crowley look away from his comfortable position against Aziraphale’s chest, and he frowned when he saw a very red Aziraphale, with his white wings spreading below him, closing in on Crowley, who realised he had been getting a bit cold.

“What’s happening?” he still asked, wondering why wings were suddenly out. They usually didn’t just spring out – thankfully.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“I think they just had to get out.”

Crowley was willing to drop the topic, but he felt that the angel was trying to say something, so he smiled, resting his chin on the back of his hand as he watched Aziraphale look away then stare at him. The wings wrapped around Crowley a little closer. “Why?”

“This body is not… used to this.”

“Intimacy? You can call it what it is.”

“Shht,” Aziraphale said, and maybe his wings tried to smite Crowley’s back, but it was more of a caress than anything else. “I love you and my wings thought clever to signal that by suddenly manifesting when… I guess when my body realised you were feeling the same.”

“Glad that didn’t happen in the middle of a street, then,” Crowley chuckled. His laugh died out as his brain finally understood Aziraphale’s words.

There was another swoosh and Aziraphale let out a small squeak of surprise, then laughed.

Crowley hissed, back in his snake form. He suddenly understood what Aziraphale had meant. His body was acting on its own, the snake form taking over any reasonable reaction from Crowley. He briefly wondered if wings could still pop out in this form, but they didn’t seem to be getting out without Crowley’s permission.

It took him a second to realise that he hadn’t answered Aziraphale. Even if he knew it, he still felt like he should say it, but the words got stuck on his tongue. Instead, he slithered up Aziraphale’s chest, snuggling in the crook of his neck.

Of course he loved him back.

Aziraphale giggled as Crowley moved, tickling him slightly, then sighed and kissed his scales, wrapping his arms and his wings around Crowley’s body.

It had always felt warm, to be around Aziraphale. It also felt warm to be in his arms, cuddled by his white wings, soothed by a humming he probably didn’t realise he was doing. It felt right and good and… It felt like it had always felt when Crowley was at his side. Comforting, familiar, warm. He was accepted, he was loved and he loved. He loved so much.

And in that blessed – ugh – cold evening, Crowley and Aziraphale fell asleep, wrapped around each other, dozing off in the couch they had slouched on many times before, never as close physically as they were now, but always connected. 


End file.
